Halcyon
by Tsuru-san
Summary: Once, before he commanded the Golden Age armies and fought the Fearlings, Kozmotis Pitchiner was the bodyguard of a dream-weaver prince.


**Author Notes**: Written for this prompt from the Rise of the Guardians kinkmeme.

_(Pitch/Sandman) Golden-Age Romance [established relationship, softcore porn, fluff and feels]_

_I really really want to see a sexy fill for these two. In the book version *SPOILER!* it has been said that Kozmotis Pitchiner was Sanderson Mansnoozie's bodyguard (or something along those lines?), and I'm a sucker for war-hero/prince and general/king pairings!_

_So_ _what I'm getting at is that I'd like a romance with Sandy remembering the Golden Age, and his very close (so scandalous!) relationship with Pitch._  
_Pitch does not remember, he's not the man he used to be and it makes Sandy very sad, and dwelling/day dreaming of those halcyon days gone past..._

_Augh, I'm really bad with this writing thing -_  
_Long story short, Sandy and Pitch were lovers in the Golden age, after Pitch's defeat Sandy reminiscences on those times! Give my old timey romance! Softcore sexy happenings and heartbreaking feels!_  
_If Sandy decides to confront Pitch afterwards to try and do... Something? Is up to the author!_

_Aaahhh I hope I'm not asking for too much! :') (sailing this ship alone is hard. it's hard and no one understands lmao! 3)_

* * *

.

Pitch Black's boots whisper as they brush over the ground, steps sliding like a ghost on the prowl. He comes close to the clustered Guardians before circling away again. There are far too many shadows in Tooth's palace to allow for a clean fight. The back of Sandy's neck prickles, not with fear but with a resurging sorrow. Too much time has passed for the despair to be as soul-crushing as it once was, but it lingers in the Sandman's bones all the same, a persistent melancholy.

Things were once so different... A long time ago in a galaxy far, far away, as the humans would jest. Except that it's _true_.

Once upon a time there was a Prince and a General and ships that sailed amidst the stars. Once. Centuries have gone by since then, and the Guardian of Dreams feels so _old_ standing here amidst his much younger friends.

And Sandy remembers...

..0..0..0..

General Kozmotis Pitchiner's boots click-clack military style, all grace and precision, as he walks the courtyard path. He's coming close to the Mansnoozie royal family's palace. There's talk amongst the various royal families that Pitchiner may soon find himself in a more prestigious position—his victories against the Fearlings and Nightmare Men are numerous and growing—but for now the soldier is still in the employ of the Mansnoozies, guarding their one and only son: Sanderson, heir to the Dream-weaving trade.

Right from the start, Sanderson had felt pleased to have someone like Pitchiner to watch out for him. The older man is brave and smart and damn handy with a rapier. But there's much more to him than that, as Sanderson has slowly learned. Pitchiner has a calm sort of charm but beneath that composed exterior, he's genuinely friendly and has a warm smile (and he's _quite_ the chatterbox once one properly gets him going).

And now the Dream Prince peeks from his balcony as the general—_his_ general, in a way—strides closer. Sanderson tries to be discreet in his vigil. It's no secret that the Prince of Dreams is fond of his bodyguard, but that's not the whole story, and Sanderson's feelings encompass far more than simple admiration. It might cause trouble if third parties were to take note of how highly the two men regarded each other.

Even with Kozmotis's growing fame, it would still be scandalous if people deciphered just how close he really is to the Prince of Dreams. A general—however beloved—dallying with a prince nearly half his age... Well, it would be severely frowned upon to say the _least_.

And so Sanderson does his level best not to be caught staring, and no servants notice, but of course Kozmotis sees him anyway. Sanderson is convinced that the general could spot a sniper from ninety meters off. In a downpour.

Black boots pause long enough for Kozmotis to incline his head in a greeting, the faintest of smiles tugging at his thin lips.

Having been found out by his lover, Sanderson offers a quick smile of his own before he ducks out of sight, cheeks blushing copper. Carefully, he shuts and latches the balcony doors and awaits the general's imminent arrival.

Sanderson has his own suite of rooms in the family's palace, and it is here that he waits, in the living room of his apartment. The Prince of Dreams had just enough time to pull out some iced tea and light refreshments. He could've rung for a servant, of course, but Sanderson likes to do things himself. The golden man fusses with arranging plate and glasses on a low table, a more productive sort of fidgeting. Now that the general is back, Sanderson wants to run to him and hold him close, but he waits. It's been nearly two weeks since Kozmotis has been here. Although he is Sanderson's bodyguard, General Pitchiner has been sought out more and more by other ruling families seeking advice on defending against the Fearlings. Sanderson is glad that his lover can be such help, but he also misses the older man when he's gone.

At last there's the low mutter of voices as General Pitchiner draws closer, greeting servants on his way towards Sanderson's living quarters. Sanderson barely contains himself when finally there is a knock on his door.

The prince is rather pleased at how calmly he says "Come in", and then the door is opened, and Kozmotis's tall form steps through the doorway.

The general bows deeply and the prince politely inclines his head, but after the door is closed, the two men don't even make it to the couch before Sanderson rushes to hug Kozmotis. The older man sinks gracefully to his knees so that it's easier for his more petit companion to embrace him. They make an amusing pair: tall and lanky beside short and round.

For a little while they just hold each other. Sanderson murmurs that he missed Kozmotis while the other was away, and the general says how glad he is to see his young charge. Light kisses are traded, and then the Prince of Dreams is trailing his plump fingers along Kozmotis's lean ones, their hands clasping together.

Sanderson strips away black gloves before reaching for the laces on one of the general's brown leather gauntlets. Kozmotis is always wearing at least light armor, and Sanderson enjoys taking it off—indeed he's become quite adept at the task. And so the gauntlets come away and drop to the floor, first one and then the other.

"Really, my Prince," Kozmotis chides but doesn't pull away. "There are important matters that we...ah...ought to talk about..."

"Oh? What did you want to discuss?" The Prince of Dreams slides up the sleeve of his lover's black linen shirt and presses his mouth to Kozmotis's wrist. The general's pulse thrums against the prince's lips, and Sanderson kisses tenderly up the older man's inner forearm. His hands may be rough and calloused from a soldier's lifestyle, but here Kozmotis's skin is creamy soft. Sometimes it seems like the general is made up of contrasts. Sharp features, shy smile... Strong chest, soft flanks... Wiry frame but fit as a fiddle... The disparities make Sanderson smile as he kisses.

"Ah..." Kozmotis shivers delightfully in Sanderson's grasp, and his free hand comes up to caress the prince's hair, touching, encouraging... Spindly fingers card through golden locks before tracing the contours of a curved cheek, and Sanderson hums his approval. He pulls back from his lover's wrist only to move to his collarbone instead. Sanderson nips lightly at the exposed sliver of pale skin while his small hands pluck teasingly at the general's shirt.

"My Prince," Kozmotis purrs, "while I do commend you on the quality of the carpet, I must insist we take this to 'discussion' of ours to the bedroom."

Sanderson laughs gently, quietly. "That didn't take long at all." Usually the general has a few points to argue—like "decorum" and "it's the middle of the day!"—before allowing Sanderson to woo him to bed.

But instead Kozmotis simply smiles. "Let's just say I've missed you, alright?"

.0.0.0.

Afterwards they lay satiated in Sanderson's bed. Small rays of afternoon sun sneak into the room from beneath navy curtains. Kozmotis is still on his back beneath his lover, and Sanderson hums, content, as he rests his head against his companion's shoulder.

"I see you've missed me as well," the general says fondly. His eyelids are drooping, and he looks likely to nod off.

"I most certainly did," the Prince replies. He cuddles up to Kozmotis's chest and is not surprised to hear the older man's breathing even out a few minutes later. Sanderson sighs fondly, and with a moment of concentration, he summons wisps of gold sand to circle the older man's head.

Kozmotis and Sanderson spend much of the afternoon in bed, the former sleeping soundly and the latter watching over him. Or at least that's what they both try to do with mixed success. So eager was he to see his lover that Sanderson hadn't noticed until now how truly tired the general is, but the truth is becoming all too apparent in the way that the dreamsand is turning blackened and sooty where it swirls around the sleeping soldier's head.

Sanderson has never had a nightmare before and to see such dark dreams hovering so close chills the dream-weaver. However, the prince does not call for help or wake Kozmotis. Instead, Sanderson takes a deep breath and seats himself cross-legged on the plush mattress. And then he goes to work.

He plies the dark dream strands like a spinner works thread at a wheel. He twists and tugs until the sand forms new shapes, golden shapes—Pitchiner-and-his-daughter shapes.

When at last the gold seems ready to stay, Sanderson leans back against the bed's headboard with a shuddering breath. He feels a strange mix of pride and sorrow. It's good that he was here and able to protect Kozmotis for once, but even this small gesture had been so _hard_. Sanderson's skill with dream-weaving is improving daily, but he still hadn't anticipated how difficult it would be to turn bad dreams to good. If he could barely hold his own against nightmares from someone's own subconscious, what chance does he possibly have against an actual Fearlings?

It is...certainly something to think about.

.0.0.0.

It's sometime later in the evening when Kozmotis wakes up, dim light still filtering in pinpricks through the weave of the curtains' fabric. Sanderson smiles as the general stretches and yawns.

"Some bodyguard I am," the older man jokes, "falling asleep and leaving my charge to fend for himself."

"Oh shush," Sanderson retorts, "we both know you needed the rest what with all the extra work you've been handling." Then the prince grins a little. "Or maybe you're saying I tuckered you out with our romp from earlier. A bit too much excitement for your old bones—?"

Of course, prince or not, Sanderson still gets a pillow to the face for his antics. "Brat," Kozmotis chuckles, leaning back so that he rested propped up on his elbows.

Just as quickly though his expression turns serious. "Is now a good time for us to speak? That is, do you have any appointments soon?"

"No, nothing for the rest of the evening," Sanderson replies. "Why?"

Kozmotis looks tired again, but he draws himself up further so he's sitting. "My prince, things have recently taken a very dramatic change. There's...something I have to tell you."

Sanderson bites his lower lip, not feeling particularly reassured by Kozmotis's tone of voice. "So when you said there were important matters to talk about, you were serious?"

The general nods, looking tired again despite the nap. "Yes, my prince. Shall we dress and return to the sitting room?"

"Alright."

They put their clothes back on and troop in silence out of the bedroom. The general sits on the long couch, and Sanderson perches on a chair across from him. The ice has melted in the tea Sanderson put out hours ago, but Kozmotis sips at the lukewarm beverage pensively, and the prince waits while the other man composes his thoughts.

"I'm not one to dissemble so I'll just come to the point," the older man finally said. "As you know the war against the Fearlings is quickly coming to a head, but the Lunanoff family is spearheading an effort to turn the tide.

"They're forming what's being called the "Golden Army", and they have asked me to come to the core constellation Draco and oversee the formation and training of this new army. And when the time comes, Tsar Lunanoff would like me to lead the military campaign."

"You're leaving..." Sanderson doesn't mean for his voice to come out so small and _young_-sounding, but he can't help it. He's known for a while that this could happen, but he still isn't prepared for the reality of it. "Can't you refuse?"

"Yes, but I won't." Pitchiner smiles gently. "There are people near and dear to me who I want to protect—you and my daughter chief among them."

Sanderson sighs, coming over to sit beside his lover. "I know, but I will still miss you."

"Ah, about that... That is the other piece of news I would like to share with you. I've been speaking with your parents, and we all agree that your dream-weaving has shown _such_ progress. There's not much left for your tutors here to teach you."

"I still have a lot to learn," the golden youth admits, looking sadly down at his hands and remembering how much he'd struggle just to subdue Pitchiner's nightmare.

"I know, and that's why I suggested to your parents that it's high time you learn star piloting at a proper university on the constellation Draco."

Sanderson's head whips. "Are you serious?!"

The general folds his hands neatly in his lap. "Completely serious. You're ready for this—I know you are and your parents do too. The fact that we'll undoubtedly see each other often in passing is just a happy bonus," Pitchiner adds innocently.

"You're a sly old man," Sanderson smirks, unabashedly admiring. He can feel his heart growing lighter.

Kozmotis smiles serenely. "Don't tell me you thought I reached the rank of general on heroics alone, hmm?"

"You seem so straitlaced that no one would ever suspect you of being sneaky," Sanderson retorts, making the older man laugh. It's a hopeful, friendly sound, and Kozmotis looks so steady and calmly determined that Sanderson thinks that at least they'll be together and just maybe everything will work out somehow.

..0..0..0..

Of course, even the best-laid plans could fail.

Here in the present, Pitch slinks oily elegant over the curves and arches of Tooth's palace, and every word and motion is so _different_ now that Sandy can't really see his lover at all in this cruel being's face.

How surreal, in a way, that they two have seen and known so _much_ of each other spanned over years and universes only for them both to eventually wind up here. How sad, Sandy thinks, to be trapped on this one planet with the being who once knew him best yet who now might as well be a stranger. They are relics of the Golden Age, Sandy and Pitch. They've been dragged down from the stars and relegated to posturing on this simple stage.

Granted, this entrapment is all Pitch's fault, but in his kinder moments, Sanderson can't help but pity all three of them—himself, Kozmotis, and even Pitch. A part of him occasionally still hopes that Kozmotis is asleep in there somewhere, but it's a tired hope, more like wishful thinking. Sandy hasn't actually _believed_ for a number of years now.

If there's any trace of Kozmotis left in Pitch, then Sandy can't find it. And he's looked so many times.

-end-


End file.
